John L. O'Sullivan, a prominent literary man and in subsequent years minister to Portugal, edited a periodical called the Democratic Review, which was published in magazine form. I well recall the first appearance of Harper's Magazine in June, 1850, and that for some time it had but few illustrations. The Evening Post was established in 1801, many years prior to the Courier and Enquirer. It was always widely read, was democratic in its tone, and its editorials were highly regarded. While I lived in New York, and also much later, it was edited by William Cullen Bryant, who was as gifted as an editor as he was as a poet. I have before me now a reprint of the first issue of this paper, dated Monday, November 16, 1801. I copy some of the advertisements, as many old New York names are represented:

FOR SALE BY HOFFMAN & SETON

Twelve hhds. assorted Glass Ware. 2 boxes Listadoes, 1 trunk white Kid Gloves, 200 boxes Soap & Candles, 60 bales Cinnamon, entitled to drawback. Nov. 16.

* * * * *

FREIGHT

For Copenhagen or Hamburgh, The bark BERKKESKOW, Capt. Gubriel Tothammer, is ready to receive freight for either of the above places, if application is made to the Captain on board, at Gouverneur's Wharf.

GOUVERNEUR & KEMBLE.

* * * * *

FOR SALE

Gin in pipes; large and small green Bottle Cases, complete; Glass Ware, consisting of Tumblers, Decanters, &c.; Hair Brushes, long and short; black and blue Dutch Cloth; Flour, by

FREDERICK DE PEYSTER.

A STORE HOUSE in Broad-street to let, apply as above. Nov. 16.

* * * * *

THE SUBSCRIBER has for sale, remaining from the cargo of the ship Sarson, from Calcutta, an assortment of WHITE PIECE GOODS.

Also

50 tierces Rice, 60 hhds. Jamaica Rum, 15 bales Sea-Island 10,000 Pieces White Cotton, Nankeens, 29 tierces and 34 bls. A quantity of Large Jamaica Coffee, Bottles in cases, And as usual, Old Madeira Wine, fit for immediate use.

ROBERT LENOX.

FOOTNOTES:

[2] Possibly this word is "Election."



CHAPTER III

SCHOOL-DAYS AND EARLY FRIENDS

I must return to my school days. After several years spent at Miss Forbes's my parents decided to afford me greater advantages for study, and especially for becoming more proficient in the French language, and I was accordingly sent to Madame Eloise Chegaray's institution, which for many years was regarded as the most prominent girls' school in the country. It was a large establishment located on the corner of Houston and Mulberry Streets, where she accommodated boarding pupils as well as day scholars. Many years later this building was sold to the religious order of the Sacre Coeur. The school hours were from nine until three, with an intermission at twelve o'clock. The vacation, as at Miss Forbes's, was limited to the month of August. The discipline was not so rigid as at Miss Forbes's, as Madame Chegaray, who, by the way, taught her pupils to address her as Tante, governed almost entirely by affection. She possessed unusual grace of manner and great kindness of heart, and her few surviving pupils hold her name and memory in the highest esteem. Her early history is of exceptional interest. She was a daughter of Pierre Prosper Desabaye, and came with her father and the other members of his family from Paris to New York on account of his straitened circumstances, caused by an insurrection in San Domingo, where his family owned large estates. Madame Chegaray commenced as a mere girl to teach French in a school in New Brunswick, New Jersey, kept by Miss Sophie Hay, and was retained on account of the extreme purity of her accent.

I chance to have in my possession Madame Chegaray's own account of her early struggles after leaving Miss Hay, from which I take great pleasure in quoting:

Among the royal emigres to this country was the Countess de St. Memin who kept a school. As my brother Marc had removed to New York we joined him and I was employed as French governess in the school of Mademoiselle de St. Memin. But I still knew nothing but to speak my own native tongue. One day I was bewailing my ignorance in the presence of M. Felix de Beaujour, Consul General of France to this country.

"Mlle. Eloise," he said, "quand on sait lire on peut toujours s'istruire."

This gave me a new thought. I set seriously about studying. I took classes. What I was to teach on the morrow I studied the night before. I worked early and late. With the return of Louis Philippe the St. Memins returned to France and I became a teacher in the school of Madame Nau. Here I studied and taught. On me fell all the burden of the school while Madame Nau amused herself with harp and piano. For this I had only $150 a year. To further assist my family I knit woolen jackets. They were a great deal of trouble to me and I was very grateful to Madame Isaac Iselin, the mother of Mr. Adrain Iselin, who always found purchasers to give me excellent prices. Ah, I was young then. I thought that I earned that money. Now I know that it was only her delicate manner of doing me a service. Madame Iselin bought my jackets and then gave them away.

Feeling that I was worth much to Madame Nau, and that I must do more to relieve my brother Marc, my brother Gustave having gone to sea with Captain de Peyster, I begged Madame Nau to give me $250. This she refused. Her reply, "Me navra le coeur," overwhelmed me. It was Saturday. I started home in great distress and met on the way the dear admirable Miss Sophy Hay to whom I told my sorrow.

"Miss Hay," I exclaimed, "I will open a school for myself." She tapped me on the forehead. "Do, dear Eloise, and God will help you."

How all difficulties were smoothed away! The dear Madame Iselin took charge of all my purchases, advancing the money. They were very simple, those splint chairs and carpets and tables, for we were simpler-minded then. On the 1st of May 1814 I opened my school on Greenwich Street with sixteen pupils. Good M. Roulet gave me his two wards. I received several scholars from a convent just closed and I had my nieces Ameline and Laura Berault de St. Maurice and Clara the daughter of Marc [Desabaye], who afterward married Ponty Lemoine, the lawyer in whose office Charles O'Conor studied. Thus was my school started, and I take this occasion to express my gratitude to those who confided in so young an instructress—for I was only twenty-two—the education of their daughters, and I pray God to bless them and their country....

Many well-known women were educated at this school, and one of the first pupils was Miss Sarah Morris, the granddaughter of Lewis Morris, the Signer, and the mother of the senior Mrs. Hamilton Fish. A younger sister of Mrs. Fish, Christine, who many years later was a pupil of Madame Chegaray, and who is now Mrs. William Preston Griffin of New York, ministered to Madame Chegaray in her last illness, and told me that her parting words to her were, "Adieu, chere Christine, fidele amie." In spite of her extreme youth Madame Chegaray took an exceptionally serious view of life, even refusing to wear flowers in her bonnets or to sing, although she had a very sweet voice. She dearly loved France, but she was a broad-minded woman and her knowledge of American affairs was as great as that of her own country. She rounded out nearly a century of life, the greater part of which was devoted to others, and I pay her the highest tribute in my power when I say that she faced the many vicissitudes of life with an undaunted spirit, and bequeathed to her numerous pupils the inestimable boon of a wonderful example.

All the teachers in Madame Chegaray's school were men, with the single exception of Mrs. Joseph McKee, the wife of a Presbyterian clergyman. Among those who taught were John Bigelow, who is still living in New York at an advanced age, and who in subsequent years was Secretary of State of New York and our Minister to France; Thatcher T. Payne; Edward G. Andrew, who became in the course of years a Bishop in the Methodist Church; Professor Robert Adrain, who taught mathematics, and who at the same time was one of the faculty of Columbia College; and Lorenzo L. da Ponte. The latter was a man of unusual versatility, and was especially distinguished as a linguist. He taught us English literature in such a successful manner that we regarded that study merely as a recreation. Mr. da Ponte was a son of Lorenzo da Ponte, a Venitian of great learning, who after coming to this country rendered such conspicuous services in connection with Dominick Lynch in establishing Italian opera in New York. He was also a professor of Italian for many years in Columbia College, the author of a book of sonnets, several works relating to the Italian language and of his own life, which was published in three volumes. Mr. Samuel Ward, a noted character of the day, the brother of Mrs. Julia Ward Howe and who married Emily Astor, daughter of William B. Astor, wrote an interesting memoir of him. Madame Chegaray taught the highest classes in French. "If I had to give up all books but two," she was fond of saying, "I would choose the Gospels and La Fontaine's Fables. In one you have everything necessary for your spiritual life; in the other you have the epitome of all worldly wisdom."

When I entered Madame Chegaray's school she had about a hundred pupils, a large number of whom were from the Southern States. How well I remember the extreme loyalty of the Southern girls to their native soil! I can close my eyes and read the opening sentence of a composition written by one of my comrades, Elodie Toutant, a sister of General Pierre G. T. Beauregard of the Confederate Army—"The South, the South, the beautiful South, the garden spot of the United States." This chivalric devotion to the soil whence they sprang apparently was literally breathed into my Southern school companions from the very beginning of their lives. Their loyalty possessed a fascination for me, and although I was born, reared and educated in a Northern State, I had a tender feeling for the South, which still lingers with me, for most of the friendships I formed at Madame Chegaray's were with Southern girls.

My first day at Madame Chegaray's, like many other beginnings, was something of an ordeal, but it was my good fortune to meet almost immediately Henrietta Croom, a daughter of Henry B. Croom, a celebrated botanist of North Carolina, but who, with his family, had spent much of his life in Tallahassee. Many are the pleasant hours we spent together, but to my sorrow she graduated at an early age, and a few months later embarked, in company with her parents, a younger brother and sister and an aunt, Mrs. Cammack, upon a vessel called the Home for Charleston, South Carolina, where they had planned to make their future residence. When they had been several days at sea their vessel encountered a severe storm off Cape Hatteras, and after a brave struggle with the terrific elements every member of the family sank with the ship within a few miles of the spot where the Crooms had formerly lived. This occurred on the 9th of October, 1836. They had as fellow voyagers a brother of Madame Chegaray, who, with his wife and three children, had only just left the school to make the voyage to Charleston. They, too, lost their lives. Over Madame Chegaray's school as well as her household at once hung a pall, and gloom and mourning prevailed on every side; indeed, the whole city of New York shared in our sorrow. The newspapers of the day were filled with accounts of this direful disaster, but there were few survivors to tell the tale. My late playmate, Henrietta Croom, was one of the most popular girls at school, possessing great attractions of both mind and person, and, although at the time she was merely a child in years, the New Year's address of a prominent daily newspaper of the day contained an extended reference to her which strongly appealed to my grief-stricken fancy. Though more than sixty years have passed I have always preserved it with great care in memory of the "sweet damsel" of long ago. The following are the lines to which I have just referred:

Dear Home! what magic trembles in the word; Each bosom's fountain at its sound is stirred, Disgusted worldlings dream of early love And weary Christians turn their eyes above— Well was't thou nam'd, fair bark, whose recent doom Has many a household wrapt in deepest gloom! On earth no more those voyagers' steps shall roam That cast their anchor at an Heavenly "Home"! High beat their hearts, when first their fated prow Cut through the surge that boils above them now, They saw in vision rapt their fatherland And felt once more its odorous breezes bland— The frozen North receded from their sight And fancy's dream entranced them with delight— Oh! who can tell what pangs their soul assail'd When every hope of life and rescue fail'd, When wild despair their throbbing bosoms wrung And winds and waves a doleful requiem sung? There stood the husband whose protecting arm 'Till now had kept his lov'd ones safe from harm. Remorseless grown, the demon of the storm Swept from his grasp her trembling, fragile form. Vague fear o'er children's lineaments convuls'd, But selfish hands their frenzied cling repuls'd. When death's grim aspect meets the startl'd view To grovelling souls fair mercy bids adieu! And thou, sweet damsel! who in girlhood's bloom Descended then to fill an ocean tomb— What were thy thoughts, when roaring for their prey The foaming billows choked the watery way! 'Tis said that souls have giv'n in parting hour A vast and fearful and mysterious power. A chart pictorial of the past is made, In which minute events are all portray'd— One painful glance the scroll entire surveys And then in death the blasted eye-balls glaze— Perchance at that dark moment when the maid On life's dim verge her coming doom survey'd, Such vision flash'd across her spirit pure, And help'd the youthful beauty to endure. Her infant sports beneath the spreading lime, Her recent school-days, in a northern clime— Her gentle deeds—her treasur'd thoughts of love— All plum'd her pinions for a flight above!

The Croom family owned large plantations in the South together with many slaves. A short time after it was definitely known that not a member of the family had survived, there was a legal contest over the estate by the representatives of both sides of the household, the Crooms and the Armisteads. Eminent members of the Southern bar were employed, among whom were Judge John McPherson Berrien of Savannah and Joseph M. White of Florida, often called "Florida White." After about twenty years of litigation the suit was decided in favor of the Armisteads. It seems that as young Croom, a lad of twelve, nearly reached the shore he was regarded as the survivor, and his grandmother, Mrs. Henrietta Smith of Newbern, North Carolina, his nearest living relative, became his heir. I have always understood that this hotly contested case has since been regarded as a judicial precedent.

A few days after receiving the news of the shipwreck of the Home, I found by accident in my father's library an edition de luxe, just published in London, of "Les Dames de Byron." In it was an illustration entitled "Leila," which bore a wonderful resemblance to my best friend, Henrietta Croom. Beneath were the following lines, which seemed to suggest her history, and the coincidence was so apparent that I immediately committed them to memory, and it is from memory that I now give them:

She sleeps beneath the wandering wave; Ah! had she but an earthly grave This aching heart and throbbing breast Would seek and share her narrow rest. She was a form of life and light That soon became a part of sight, And rose where'er I turned mine eye— The morning-star of memory.

Another schoolmate and friend of mine at Madame Chegaray's was Josephine Habersham of Savannah, a daughter of Joseph Habersham and a great-granddaughter of General Joseph Habersham, who succeeded Timothy Pickering as Postmaster General during Washington's second term and retained the position under Adams and Jefferson until the latter part of 1801. She was one of Madame Chegaray's star pupils in music. She frequently made visits to my home, remaining over Saturday and Sunday, and delighted the family by playing in a most masterly manner the Italian music then in vogue. A few years after her return to her Southern home she married her cousin, William Neyle Habersham, an accomplished musician. For many years they lived in Savannah in the greatest elegance, until the Civil War came to disturb their tranquil dreams. Two young sons, both under twenty-one, laid down their lives for the Southern cause during that conflict. After their great sorrow music was their chief solace, and they delighted their friends by playing together on various musical instruments.

New Orleans was represented at our school by a famous beauty, Catharine Alexander Chew, a daughter of Beverly Chew, the Collector of the Port of New Orleans, and whose wife, Miss Maria Theodosia Duer, was a sister of President William Alexander Duer of Columbia College. He and Richard Relf, cashier of the Louisiana State Bank, were the business partners and subsequently the executors of the will of Daniel Clark of the same city, and it was against them that the latter's daughter, Myra Clark Gaines, the widow of General Edmund Pendleton Gaines, U.S.A., fought her famous legal battles for over half a century. Miss Chew married Judge Thomas H. Kennedy of New Orleans and left many descendants. The sister of General Pierre G. T. Beauregard, Elodie Toutant, whom I have already mentioned, was also from Louisiana. She was a studious girl, and a most attractive companion. The original family name was Toutant, but towards the close of the sixteenth century the last male descendant of the family died, and an only surviving daughter having married Sieur Paix de Beauregard, the name became Toutant de Beauregard, the prefix de having subsequently been dropped.

Still another friendship I formed at Madame Chegaray's school was with Elizabeth Clarkson Jay, which through life was a source of intense pleasure to me and lasted until her pure and gentle spirit returned to its Maker. She was the daughter of Peter Augustus Jay, a highly respected lawyer, and a granddaughter of the distinguished statesman, John Jay. She was a deeply religious woman, and died a few years ago in New York after a life consecrated to good works.

One of the brightest girls in my class was Sarah Jones, a daughter of one of New York's most distinguished jurists, Chancellor Samuel Jones. She and another schoolmate of mine, Maria Brandegee, who lived in LeRoy Place, were intimate and inseparable companions. The mother of the latter belonged to a Creole family from New Orleans, named Deslonde, and was the aunt of the wife of John Slidell of Confederate fame. The Brandegees were devout Roman Catholics, while the members of the Jones family were equally ardent Episcopalians. Archbishop Hughes of New York was a welcome and frequent visitor at the Brandegee house, where, in my younger days, I frequently had the pleasure of meeting him and listening to his attractive conversation. In this manner Sarah Jones also came into contact with him. Deeply impressed by his teachings, she followed him to the Cathedral, where she soon became a regular attendant. In the course of time she became a member of the Roman Catholic Church, and a few years later entered the order of the Sacre Coeur, at Manhattanville, where she eventually became Mother Superior and remained as such for many years.

Quite a number of years ago I was the guest of the family of Charles O'Conor, the distinguished jurist and leader of the New York bar, at his handsome home at Fort Washington, a suburb of New York. He was the son of the venerable Thomas O'Conor, editor of The Shamrock, the first paper published in New York for Irish and Catholic readers, and also the author of a history of the second war with Great Britain. One afternoon Mr. O'Conor suggested that I should accompany him upon a drive to the Convent of the Sacre Coeur a few miles distant. He was anxious to confer with Madame Mary Aloysia Hardey, who was then Mother Superior. I was delighted to accept this invitation, as Mr. O'Conor was an exceptionally agreeable companion and his spare moments were but few and far between. Before reaching our destination, I remarked that Madame Jones, an old schoolmate of mine, was an inmate of this Convent, and that I should be very glad to see her again. Upon our arrival, Sarah Jones greeted me in the parlor and seemed glad to see me after the lapse of so many years. Leading as she was the life of a religieuse, our topics of conversation were few, but I noticed that she seemed interested in discussing her own family, about whom evidently she was not well informed. After a brief visit and while homeward bound, Mr. O'Conor inquired whether Madame Jones knew that her father, the Chancellor, was rapidly approaching death. I replied that apparently she had no knowledge of his serious condition, and several days later I saw his death announced in a daily newspaper. Many years after my interview with Sarah Jones I met at the residence of Mrs. Henry R. Winthrop of New York an older sister of hers, Mary Anna Schuyler Jones, who at the time was the widow of the Reverend Dr. Samuel Seabury of the Episcopal Church. We lunched together, and the conversation naturally drifted back to other days and to my old schoolmate, her sister, Sarah Jones. She told me that she had seen but little of her in recent years, but related a curious episode in regard to meeting her under unusual circumstances. It seems that Mrs. Seabury, accompanied by a young daughter, was returning from a visit to Europe, when she noticed that the occupants of the adjoining state-room were unusually quiet. In time she made the discovery that they were nuns returning from a business trip abroad. Upon examination of the passenger list, she discovered to her astonishment that her sister, Madame Jones, was occupying the adjoining room. They met daily thereafter throughout the voyage, and afterwards returned to their respective homes.

I especially remember an incident of my school-life which was decidedly sensational. Sally Otis, a young and pretty girl and a daughter of James W. Otis, then of New York but formerly of Boston, was in the same class with me. One morning we missed her from her accustomed seat, but during the day we learned the cause of her absence. The whole Otis family had been taken ill by drinking poisoned coffee. Upon investigation the cook reported that a package of coffee had been sent to the house, and, taking it for granted that it had been ordered by some member of the household, she had used it for breakfast. The whole matter was shrouded in mystery, and gossip was rife. One story was that a vindictive woman concentrated all of her malice upon a single member of the family against whom she had a grievance and thus endangered the lives of the whole Otis family. Fortunately, none of the cases proved fatal, but several inmates of the house became seriously ill.

A few years before I entered Madame Chegaray's school, Virginia Scott, the oldest daughter of Major General Winfield Scott, enjoyed Tante's tutelage for a number of years. She was a rare combination of genius and beauty, and, apart from her remarkable personality, was a skilled linguist and an accomplished vocal and instrumental musician. This unusual combination of gifts suggests the Spanish saying: "Mira favorecida de Dios" ("Behold one favored of God!"). Her life, however, was brief, though deeply interesting. In the first blush of womanhood she accompanied her mother and sisters to Europe, and, after several years spent in Paris, made a visit to Rome, where she immediately became imbued with profound religious convictions. Through the instrumentality of Father Pierce Connelly, a convert to Catholicism, she was received into the Roman Catholic Church while in the Holy City, and made her profession of faith in the Chapel of St. Ignatius, where the ceremony took place by the special permission of the Most Rev. John Roothan, General of the Jesuits. General Scott meanwhile had returned to the United States, having been promoted to the rank of Commander-in-Chief of the Army with headquarters in Washington. Accompanied by her mother, Virginia Scott returned to America and, after a short time spent with her parents in Washington, drove to Georgetown and, without their knowledge or consent, was received there as an inmate of the "Convent of the Visitation." Her family was bitterly opposed to the step, more especially her mother, whose indignation was so pronounced that she never to the day of her death forgave the Church for depriving her of her daughter's companionship. General Scott, however, frequently visited her in her cloistered home, and always manifested much consideration for the Convent as well as for the nuns, the daily companions of his daughter. Although she possessed a proud and imperious nature, combined with great personal beauty and much natural hauteur, she soon became as gentle as a lamb. She died about a year after entering the Convent, but she retained her deep religious convictions to the last. She is buried beneath the sanctuary in the chapel of the Georgetown Convent. In connection with her a few lines often come to my mind which seem so appropriate that I can not deny myself the pleasure of quoting them:

She was so fair that in the Angelic choir, She will not need put on another shape Than that she bore on earth.

I have heard it stated that during Virginia Scott's residence in Paris there existed a deep attachment between herself and a young gentleman of foreign birth. The story goes that in the course of time he became as devoted to his religion as he had hitherto been to the beautiful American, and that it was agreed between them that they should both consecrate themselves thereafter to the service of God. He accordingly entered at once upon a religious life. I have heard that they afterwards met at a service before the altar, but that there was no recognition. As intimate as I became with the members of the Scott family in subsequent years, I never heard any allusion to this incident in their family history, and I can readily understand that it was a subject upon which they were too sensitive to dwell.

Father Connelly, whom I have mentioned in connection with Miss Scott's conversion, began his career as an Episcopal clergyman. There was a barrier to his becoming a Roman Catholic priest, as he was married; but his wife soon shared in his religious ardor, and when he entered the priesthood she became a nun. He lacked stability, however, in his religious views, and was subsequently received again into the Episcopal Church. It was his desire that his wife should at once join him but she refused to leave the Convent, and she finally became the founder of the Order of the "Sisters of the Holy Child." I have heard that he took legal measures to obtain possession of her, but if so he was unsuccessful in his efforts.

Another one of Madame Chegaray's distinguished pupils was Martha Pierce of Louisville. As she attended this school some years before I entered, I knew of her in these days only by reputation. But some years later I had the pleasure of knowing her quite intimately, when she talked very freely with me in regard to her eventful life. She told me that upon a certain occasion in the days when women rarely traveled alone she was returning to Kentucky under the care of Henry Clay, and stopped in Washington long enough to visit the Capitol. Upon its steps she was introduced to Robert Craig Stanard of Richmond, upon whom she apparently made a deep impression, for one year later the handsome young Southerner carried the Kentucky girl, at the age of sixteen, back to Virginia as his bride. During her long life in Richmond her home, now the Westmoreland Club, was a notable salon, where the beaux esprits of the South gathered. She survived Mr. Stanard many years. Beautiful, even in old age, gifted and cultivated, her attractions of face and intellect paled before her inexpressible charm of manner. She traveled much abroad and especially in England. A prominent Kentuckian once told me that he heard Washington Irving say that Mrs. Stanard received more attention and admiration in the highest circles of English society than any other American woman he had ever known. She corresponded for many years with Thackeray, the Duke of Wellington and many other prominent Englishmen, and in her own country was equally distinguished. In the course of one of our numerous conversations she told me that after the death of Edward Everett she loaned his biographer the letters she had received from that distinguished orator. During the latter part of her life she gave up her house in Richmond and came to Washington to reside, where she remained until the end of her life. She left no descendants. Her husband's mother, Jane Stith Craig, daughter of Adam Craig of Richmond, was immortalized by Edgar Allan Poe, who, fictitiously naming her "Helen," paid feeling tribute to her charms in those beautiful verses commencing:

Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore.

Among my other schoolmates at Madame Chegaray's were Susan Maria Clarkson de Peyster, a daughter of James Ferguson de Peyster, who subsequently married Robert Edward Livingston; Margaret Masters, a daughter of Judge Josiah Masters of Troy, New York, and the wife of John W. King; Virginia Beverly Wood, a daughter of Silas Wood of New York, who became the wife of John Leverett Rogers; and Elizabeth MacNiel, daughter of General John MacNiel of the Army and wife of General Henry W. Benham of the U.S. Engineer Corps.

After a number of years spent in teaching, Madame Chegaray gave up her New York school and moved to Madison, New Jersey (at one time called Bottle Hill), with the intention of spending the remainder of her life in retirement; but she was doomed to disappointment. Discovering almost immediately that through a relative her affairs had become deeply involved, she with undaunted courage at once opened a school in Madison in the house which she had purchased with the view of spending there the declining years of her life. Previous to this time I had been one of her day scholars; I entered the second school as a boarding pupil. Once a week we were driven three miles to Morristown to attend church. I recall an amusing incident connected with this weekly visit to that place. One Sunday a fellow boarder, thinking that perhaps she might find some leisure before the service to perfect herself in her lesson for the following day, thoughtlessly took along with her a volume of French plays by Voltaire. During the service someone in a near pew observed the author's name upon the book, and forthwith the Morristown populace was startled to hear that among Madame Chegaray's pupils was a follower of the noted infidel. It took some time to convince the public that this book was carried to church by my schoolmate without her teacher's knowledge; and the girl was horrified to learn that she was unintentionally to blame for a new local scandal. While I was at Madame Chegaray's I owned a schoolbook entitled "Shelley, Coleridge and Keats." I brought it home with me one day, but my father took it away from me and, as I learned later, burned it, owing to his detestation of Shelley's moral character. On one occasion he quoted in court some extracts from Shelley as illustrative of the poet's character, but I cannot recall the passage.

After two years spent in Madison, Madame Chegaray returned to New York and reopened her school on the corner of Union Square and Fifteenth Street in three houses built for her by Samuel B. Ruggles. At that time the omnibuses had been running only to Fourteenth Street, but, out of courtesy to this noble woman, their route was extended to Fifteenth Street, where a lamp for the same reason was placed by the city. Madame Chegaray taught here for many years, but finally moved to 78 Madison Avenue, where she remained until, on account of old age, she was obliged to give up her teaching.

While I was still attending Madame Chegaray's school, my father, under the impression that I was not quite as proficient in mathematics and astronomy as it was his desire and ambition that I should be, employed Professor Robert Adrian of Columbia College to give me private instruction in my own home. Under his able tuition, I particularly enjoyed traversing the firmament. I was always faithful to the planet Venus, whose beauty was to me then, as now, a constant delight. In those youthful days my proprietorship in this heavenly body seemed to me as well established as in a Fifth Avenue lot, and was quite as tangible. I regarded myself in the light of an individual proprietor, and, like Alexander Selkirk in his far away island of the sea, my right to this celestial domain there was none to dispute.

After the flight of so many years, and in view, also, of the fact that sometimes the world seems to us older women to be almost turned upside down, it may not be uninteresting to speak of some of the books which were familiar to me during my school days. One of the first I ever read was "Clarissa Harlowe" by Samuel Richardson. "Cecilia," by Frances Burney, was another well-known book of the day. Mrs. Amelia Opie was also a popular authoress, and her novel entitled "White Lies" should, in my opinion, grace every library. Miss Maria Edgeworth and Mrs. Ann Eliza Bray, the latter of whom so graphically depicted the higher phases of English life, were popular authoresses in my earlier days in New York. Many years later some of the books I have mentioned were republished by the Harpers. "Gil Blas," whose author, Le Sage, was the skilful delineator of human nature, its attributes and its frailties, was much read, and, in my long journey through life, certain portions of this book have often been recalled to me by my many and varied experiences. I must not fail to speak of the "Children of the Abbey," by Regina M. Roche, where the fascinations of Lord Leicester are so vividly portrayed; nor of another book entitled "The Three Spaniards," by George Walker, which used to strike terror to my unsophisticated soul.

When Madame Chegaray retired temporarily from her school life and moved to Madison in New Jersey, Charles Canda, who had taught drawing for her, established a school of his own in New York which became very prominent. He had an attractive young daughter, who met with a most heartrending end. On her way to a ball, in company with one of her girl friends, Charlotte Canda was thrown from her carriage, and when picked up her life was extinct. As there were no injuries found upon her body, it was generally supposed that the shock brought on an attack of heart-failure. Subsequently the disconsolate parents ordered from Italy a monument costing a fabulous sum of money for those days, which was placed over the grave of their only daughter in Greenwood Cemetery, where it still continues to command the admiration of sightseers. This tragic incident occurred in February, 1845, on the eve of the victim's seventeenth birthday.

While Madame Chegaray was my teacher there was a charming French society in New York, her house being the rendezvous of this interesting social circle. I recall with much pleasure the names of Boisseau, Trudeau, Boisaubin, Thebaud and Brugiere. Madame Chegaray's sister, Caroline, together with her husband, Charles Berault, who taught dancing, and their three daughters, resided with her. The oldest, Madame Vincente Rose Ameline (Madame George R. A. Chaulet), taught music for her aunt; the second niece, Marie-Louise Josephine Laure, married Joseph U. F. d'Hervilly, a Frenchman, and in after life established a school in Philadelphia which she named Chegaray Institute; while the youngest, Pauline, married a gentleman from Cuba, named de Ruiz, and now resides in Paris.



CHAPTER IV

LIFE AND EXPERIENCES IN THE METROPOLIS

My health was somewhat impaired by an attack of chills and fever while I was still a pupil at Madame Chegaray's school. Long Island was especially affected with this malady, and even certain locations on the Hudson were on this account regarded with disfavor. In subsequent years, when the building operations of the Hudson River railroad cut off the water in many places and formed stagnant pools, it became much worse. As I began to convalesce, Dr. John W. Francis prescribed a change of air, and I was accordingly sent to Saratoga to be under the care of my friend, Mrs. Richard Armistead of North Carolina. A few days after my arrival we were joined by Mrs. De Witt Clinton and her attractive step-daughter, Julia Clinton. The United States Hotel, where we stayed, was thronged with visitors, but as I was only a young girl my observation of social life was naturally limited and I knew but few persons. Mrs. Clinton was a granddaughter of Philip Livingston, the Signer, and married at a mature age. She had a natural and most profound admiration for the memory of her illustrious husband, whom I have heard her describe as "a prince among men," and she cherished an undying resentment for any of his political antagonists.

While we were still at the United States Hotel, Martin Van Buren, at that time President of the United States, arrived in Saratoga and sojourned at the same hotel with us. His visit made an indelible impression upon my memory owing to a highly sensational incident. During the evening of the President's arrival Mrs. Clinton was promenading in the large parlor of the hotel, leaning upon the arm of the Portuguese Charge d'Affaires, Senhor Joaquim Cesar de Figaniere, when Mr. Van Buren espying her advanced with his usual suavity of manner to meet her. With a smile upon his face, he extended his hand, whereupon Mrs. Clinton immediately turned her back and compelled her escort to imitate her, apparently ignoring the fact that he was a foreign diplomat and that his conduct might subsequently be resented by the authorities in Washington. This incident, occurring as it did in a crowded room, was observed by many of the guests and naturally created much comment. In talking over the incident the next day Mrs. Clinton told me she was under the impression that Mr. Van Buren clearly understood her feelings in regard to him, as some years previous, when he and General Andrew Jackson called upon her together, she had declined to see him, although Jackson had been admitted. This act was characteristic of the woman. It was the expression of a resentment which she had harbored against Mr. Van Buren for years and which she was only abiding her time to display. I was standing at Mrs. Clinton's side during this dramatic episode, and to my youthful fancy she seemed, indeed, a heroine!

Mrs. Clinton was a social leader in Gotham before the days of the nouveaux riches, and her sway was that of an autocrat. Her presence was in every way imposing. She possessed many charming characteristics and was in more respects than one an uncrowned queen, retaining her wonderful tact and social power until the day of her death. I love to dwell upon Mrs. Clinton because, apart from her remarkable personal characteristics, she was the friend of my earlier life. Possessed as she was of many eccentricities, her excellencies far counterbalanced them. Of the latter, I recall especially the unusual ability and care she displayed in housekeeping, which at that time was regarded as an accomplishment in which every woman took particular pride. To be still more specific, she apparently had a much greater horror of dirt than the average housewife, and carried her antipathy to such an extent that she tolerated but few fires in her University Place establishment in New York, as she seriously objected to the uncleanness caused by the dust and ashes! No matter how cold her house nor how frigid the day, she never seemed to suffer but, on the contrary, complained that her home was overheated. Her guests frequently commented upon "the nipping and eager air" which Shakespeare's Horatio speaks of, but it made no apparent impression upon their hostess.

Mrs. Clinton's articulation was affected by a slight stammer, which, in my opinion, but added piquancy to her epigrammatic sayings. She once remarked to me, "I shall never be c-c-cold until I'm dead." An impulse took possession of me which somehow, in spite of the great difference in our ages, I seemed unable to resist, and I retorted, "We are not all assured of our temperatures at that period." She regarded me for a few moments with unfeigned astonishment, but said nothing. I did not suffer for my temerity at that moment, but later I was chagrined to learn she had remarked that I was the most impertinent girl she had ever known. I remember that upon another occasion she told me that one of Governor Clinton's grandchildren, Augusta Clinton, was about to leave school at a very early age. "Doesn't she intend to finish her education?" I inquired. "No," was the quick and emphatic but stuttering reply, "she's had sufficient education. I was at school only two months, and I'm sure I'm smart enough." Her niece, Margaret Gelston, who was present and was remarkable for her clear wits, retorted: "Only think how much smarter you'd have been if you had remained longer." In an angry tone Mrs. Clinton replied, "I don't want to be any smarter, I'm smart enough."

Mrs. Clinton's two nieces, the Misses Mary and Margaret Gelston, were among my earliest and most intimate friends. They occupied a prominent social position in New York and both were well known for their unusual intellectuality. They were daughters of Maltby Gelston, President of the Manhattan Bank, and granddaughters of David Gelston, who was appointed Collector of the Port of New York by Jefferson and retained that position for twenty years. Late in life Mary Gelston married Henry R. Winthrop of New York. She died a few years ago leaving an immense estate to Princeton Theological Seminary. "I pray," reads her will, "that the Trustees of this Institution may make such use of this bequest as that the extension of the Church of Christ on earth and the glory of God may be promoted thereby." In the same instrument she adds: "As a similar bequest would have been made by my deceased sister, Margaret L. Gelston, had she survived me, I desire that the said Trustees should regard it as given jointly by my said sister and by me." Some distant relatives, thinking that her money could be more satisfactorily employed than in the manner indicated, contested the will, and the Seminary finally received, as the result of a compromise, between $1,600,000 and $1,700,000.

One of my earliest recollections is of John Jacob Astor, a feeble old man descending the doorsteps of his home on Broadway near Houston Street to enter his carriage. His house was exceedingly plain and was one of a row owned by him. His son, William Backhouse Astor, who married a daughter of General John Armstrong, Secretary of War under President Madison, during at least a portion of his father's life lived in a fine house on Lafayette Place. I have attended evening parties there that were exceedingly simple in character, and at which Mrs. Astor was always plainly dressed and wore no jewels. I have a very distinct recollection of one of these parties owing to a ludicrous incident connected with myself. My mother was a woman of decidedly domestic tastes, whose whole life was so immersed in her large family of children that she never allowed an event of a social character to interfere with what she regarded as her household or maternal duties. We older children were therefore much thrown upon our own resources from a social point of view, and when I grew into womanhood and entered society I was usually accompanied to entertainments by my father. Sometimes, however, I went with my lifelong friend, Margaret Tillotson Kemble, a daughter of William Kemble, of whom I shall speak hereafter. Upon this particular occasion I had gone early in the day to the Kembles preparatory to spending the night there, with the intention of attending a ball at the Astors'. Having dined, supped, and dressed myself for the occasion, in company with Miss Kemble and her father I reached the Astor residence, where I found on the doorstep an Irish maid from my own home awaiting my arrival. In her hand she held an exquisite bouquet of pink and white japonicas which had been sent to me by John Still Winthrop, the fiance of Susan Armistead, another of my intimate friends. The bouquet had arrived just after my departure from home and, quite unknown to my family, the Irish maid out of the goodness of her heart had taken it upon herself to see that it was placed in my hands. I learned later that, much to the amusement of many of the guests, she had been awaiting my arrival for several hours. It seems almost needless to add that I carried my flowers throughout the evening with much girlish pride and pleasure.

Among the guests at this ball was Mrs. Francis R. Boreel, the young and beautiful daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Walter Langdon, who wore in her dark hair a diamond necklace, a recent gift from her grandfather, John Jacob Astor. It was currently rumored at the time that it cost twenty thousand dollars, which was then a very large amount to invest in a single article of that character. Mrs. Langdon's two other daughters were Mrs. Matthew Wilks, who married abroad and spent her life there, and the first Mrs. De Lancey Kane, who made a runaway match, and both of whom left descendants in New York. All three women were celebrated for their beauty, but Mrs. Boreel was usually regarded as the handsomest of the trio. Mrs. Walter Langdon was Dorothea Astor, a daughter of John Jacob Astor, and her husband was a grandson of Judge John Langdon of New Hampshire, who equipped Stark's regiment for the battle of Bennington, and who for twelve years was a member of the United States Senate and was present as President pro tempore of that body at the first inauguration of Washington.

Another society woman whose presence at this ball I recall, and without whom no entertainment was regarded as complete, was Mrs. Charles Augustus Davis, wife of the author of the well-known "Jack Downing Letters." Indeed, the name "Jack Downing" seemed so much a part of the Davis family that in after years I have often heard Mrs. Davis called "Mrs. Jack Downing." The Davises had a handsome daughter who married a gentleman of French descent, but neither of them long survived the marriage.

In an old newspaper of 1807 I came across the following marriage notice, which was the first Astor wedding to occur in this country:

BENTZON—ASTOR. Married, on Monday morning, the 14th ult. [September], by the Rev. Mr. [Ralph] Williston, Adrian B. Bentzon, Esq., of the Isle of St. Croix, to Miss Magdalen Astor, daughter of John Jacob Astor of this city.

It was while on a cruise among the West Indies that Miss Astor met Mr. Bentzon, a Danish gentleman of good family but moderate fortune. In the early part of the last century many ambitious foreigners went to that part of the world with the intention of making their fortunes.

Another daughter of John Jacob Astor, Eliza, married Count Vincent Rumpff, who was for some years Minister at the Court of the Tuileries from the Hanseatic towns of Germany. She was well known through life, and long remembered after death, for her symmetrical Christian character. One of her writings, entitled "Transplanted Flowers," has been published in conjunction with one of the Duchesse de Broglie, daughter of Madame de Stael, with whom she was intimately associated in her Christian works.

Henry Astor, the brother of John Jacob Astor, was the first of the family to come to America. I am able to state, upon the authority of the late Rev. Dr. Morgan Dix, rector of Trinity church in New York, and a life-long friend of the whole Astor connection, that he was a private in a Hessian regiment that fought against our colonies in the Revolutionary War. After its close he decided to remain in New York where he entered the employment of a butcher in the old Oswego market. He subsequently embarked upon more ambitious enterprises, became a highly successful business man and at his death left a large fortune to his childless widow. Dr. Dix has stated that it was probably through him that the younger brother came to this country. However this may be, John Jacob Astor sailed for America as a steerage passenger in a ship commanded by Capt. Jacob Stout and arrived in Baltimore in January, 1784. He subsequently went to New York, where he spent his first night in the house of George Dieterich, a fellow countryman whom he had known in Germany and by whom he was now employed to peddle cakes. After remaining in his employ for a time and accumulating a little money he hired a store of his own where he sold toys and German knickknacks. He afterwards added skins and even musical instruments to his stock in trade, as will appear from the following in The Daily Advertiser of New York, of the 2d of January, 1789, and following issues:

J. Jacob Astor, At No. 81, Queen-street, Next door but one to the Friends Meeting-House, Has for sale an assortment of Piano fortes, of the newest construction, Made by the best makers in London, which he will sell on reasonable terms. He gives Cash for all kinds of FURS: And has for sale a quantity of Canada Beaver, and Beaver Coating, Racoon Skins, and Racoon Blankets, Muskrat Skins, &c. &c.

It would seem that these Astor pianos were manufactured in London and that George Astor, an elder brother of John Jacob Astor, was associated with the latter in their sale. Indeed, one of them, formerly owned by the Clinton family and now in Washington's Headquarters in Newburgh, bears the name of "Geo. Astor & Co., Cornhill, London;" while still another in my immediate neighborhood in Washington has the inscription of "Astor and Camp, 79 Cornhill, London." Their octaves were few in number, and a pupil of Chopin would have regarded them with scorn; but upon these little spindle-legged affairs a duet could be performed. My first knowledge of instrumental music was derived from one of these pianos, and among the earliest recollections of my childhood is that of hearing my three maiden aunts, my father's sisters, playing in turn the inspiring Scotch airs upon the Astor piano that stood in their drawing-room. One of their songs was especially inimical to cloistered life and it, too, was possibly of Scotch origin. I am unable to recall its exact words, but its refrain ran as follows:

I will not be a nun, I can not be a nun, I shall not be a nun, I'm so fond of pleasure I'll not be a nun.

I own an original letter written by John Jacob Astor from New York on the 26th of April, 1826, addressed to ex-President James Monroe, my husband's grandfather, which I regard as interesting on account of its quaint style:

Dear Sir,

Permit me to congratulate you on your Honourable retirement [from public life] for which I most sincerely wish you may enjoy that Peace and Tranquility to which you are so justly entitled.

Without wishing to cause you any Inconveniency [sic] on account of the loan which I so long since made to you I would be glad if you would put it in a train of sittlelment [sic] if not the whole let it be a part with the interest Due.

I hope Dear Sir that you and Mrs. Monroe enjoy the best of health and that you may live many years to wittness [sic] the Prosperity of the country to which you have so generously contributed.

I am most Respectfully Dear Sir your obed S. &c.

J. J. ASTOR.

The Honble James Monroe.

It may here be stated that Mr. Astor's solicitude concerning Mr. Monroe's financial obligation was duly relieved, and that the debt was paid in full.

John Jacob Astor's numerous descendants can lay this "flattering unction" to their souls, that every dollar of his vast wealth was accumulated through thrift while leading an upright life.

An old-fashioned stage coach in my early days ran between New York and Harlem, but the fashionable drive was on the west side of the city along what was then called the "Bloomingdale Road." Many fashionable New Yorkers owned and occupied handsome country seats along this route, and closed their city homes for a period during the heated term. I recall with pleasure the home of the Prussian Consul General and Mrs. John William Schmidt, and especially their attractive daughters. Mr. Schmidt, who came to this country as a bachelor, married Miss Eliza Ann Bache of New York. Quite a number of years subsequent to this event, before they had children of their own, they adopted a little girl whom they named Julia and whom I knew very well in my early girlhood. As equestrian exercise was popular in New York at that time, many of the young men and women riding on the Bloomingdale Road would stop at the Schmidts' hospitable home, rest their horses and enjoy a pleasing half-hour's conversation with the daughters of the household. Among the fair riders was Mary Tallmadge, a famous beauty and a daughter of General James Tallmadge. During her early life and at a period when visits abroad were few and far between, her father accompanied her to Europe. During her travels on the continent she visited St. Petersburg, where her beauty created a great sensation. While there the Emperor Nicholas I. presented her with a handsome India shawl. She returned to America, married Philip S. Van Rensselaer, a son of the old Patroon, and lived for many years on Washington Square in New York.

Alexander Hamilton and family also owned and occupied a house in this charming suburb called "The Grange." It was subsequently occupied by Herman Thorne, who had married Miss Jane Mary Jauncey, a wealthy heiress of New York. He lived in this house only a few years when he went with his wife to reside in Paris during the reign of Louis Philippe. Mr. Thorne became the most prominent American resident there and excited the envy of many of his countrymen by his lavish expenditure of money. His daughters made foreign matrimonial alliances. He was originally from Schenectady, for a time was a purser in the U.S. Navy, and was remarkable for his handsome presence and courtly bearing.

Jacob Lorillard lived in a handsome house in Manhattanville, a short distance from the Bloomingdale Road. He began life, first as an apprentice and then as a proprietor, in the tanning and hide business, and his tannery was on Pearl Street. He then, with his brothers, embarked in the manufacture and sale of snuff and tobacco, in which, as is well known, he amassed an immense fortune. My earliest recollection of the family is in the days of its great prosperity. One of Mr. Lorillard's daughters, Julia, who married Daniel Edgar, I knew very well, and I recall a visit I once made her in her beautiful home, where I also attended her wedding a few years later. At this time her mother was a widow, and shortly after the marriage the place was sold to the Catholic order of the Sacre Coeur. Mrs. Jacob Lorillard was a daughter of the Rev. Doctor Johann Christoff Kunze, professor of Oriental Languages in Columbia College.

Many years ago the wags of London exhausted their wits in fittingly characterizing and ridiculing the numerous equipages of a London manufacturer of snuff and tobacco. One couplet suggestive of the manner in which this vast wealth was acquired, was

Who would have thought it That Noses had bought it.

The suitor of the daughter of this wealthy Englishman was appropriately dubbed "Up to Snuff." Alas, this ancestral and aristocratic luxury of snuff departed many years ago, but succeeding generations have been "up to snuff" in many other ways. The gold snuff-box frequently studded with gems which I remember so well in days gone by and especially at the home Gouverneur Kemble in Cold Spring, where it was passed around and freely used by both men and women, now commands no respect except as an ancestral curio. Dryden, Dean Swift, Pope, Addison, Lord Chesterfield, Dr. Johnson, Garrick, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Keats, Charles Lamb, Gibbon, Walter Scott and Darwin were among the prominent worshipers of the snuff-box and its contents, while some of them indulged in the habit to the degree of intemperance. In describing his manner of using the snuff-box Gibbon wrote: "I drew my snuff-box, rapped it, took snuff twice, and continued my discourse in my usual attitude of my body bent forwards, and my fore-finger stretched out;" and Boswell wrote in its praise:

Oh, snuff! our fashionable end and aim— Strasburgh, Rappe, Dutch, Scotch—whate'er thy name! Powder celestial! quintessence divine New joys entrance my soul while thou art mine; Who takes? who takes thee not? Where'er I range I smell thy sweets from Pall Mall to the 'Change.

While the spirit of patriotism was as prevalent in early New York as it is now, it seems to me that it was somewhat less demonstrative. The 4th of July, however, was anticipated by the youngsters of the day with the greatest eagerness and pleasure. It was the habit of my father, for many years, to take us children early in the morning to the City Hall to attend the official observances of the day, an experience which we naturally regarded as a great privilege. Booths were temporarily erected all along the pavement in front of the City Hall, where substantial food was displayed and sold to the crowds collected to assist in celebrating the day. About noon several military companies arrived upon the scene and took their positions in the park, where, after a number of interesting maneuvers, a salute was fired which was terrifying to my youthful nerves. Small boys, then as now, provided themselves with pistols, and human life was occasionally sacrificed to patriotic ardor, although I never remember hearing of cases of lockjaw resulting from such accidents, as is so frequently the case at present. Firecrackers and torpedoes were then in vogue, but skyrockets and more elaborate fireworks had not then come into general use. I do not recall that the national flag was especially prominent upon the "glorious fourth," and it is my impression that this insignia of patriotism was not universally displayed upon patriotic occasions until the Civil War.

The musical world of New York lay dormant until about the year 1825, when Dominick Lynch, much to the delight of the cultivated classes, introduced the Italian Opera. Through his instrumentality Madame Malibran, her father, Signor Garcia, and her brother, Manuel Garcia, who by the way died abroad in 1906, nearly ninety-nine years of age, came to this country and remained for quite a period. I have heard many sad traditions regarding Malibran, whose name is certainly immortal in the annals of the musical world. Mr. Lynch was the social leader of his day in New York, was aesthetic in his tastes, and possessed a highly cultivated voice. He frequently sang the beautiful old ballads so much in vogue at that period. I have heard through Mrs. Samuel L. Hinckley, an old friend of mine, who remembered the incident, that during a visit to Boston when he sang Tom Moore's pathetic ballad, "Oft in the Stilly Night," there was scarcely a dry eye in the room. In referring to the introduction of the Italian Opera into this country Dr. John W. Francis in his "Old New York" thus speaks of Dominick Lynch: "For this advantageous accession to the resources of mental gratification, we were indebted to the taste and refinement of Dominick Lynch, the liberality of the manager of the Park Theater, Stephen Price, and the distinguished reputation of the Venetian, Lorenzo Da Ponte. Lynch, a native of New York, was the acknowledged head of the fashionable and festive board, a gentleman of the ton and a melodist of great powers and of exquisite taste; he had long striven to enhance the character of our music; he was the master of English song, but he felt, from his close cultivation of music and his knowledge of the genius of his countrymen, that much was wanting, and that more could be accomplished, and he sought out, while in Europe, an Italian troupe, which his persuasive eloquence and the liberal spirit of Price led to embark for our shores where they arrived in November, 1825." Stephen Price here referred to by Dr. Francis was the manager of the old Park Theater. Dominick Lynch's grandson, Nicholas Luquer, who with his charming wife, formerly Miss Helen K. Shelton of New York, resides in Washington, and his son, Lynch Luquer, inherit the musical ability of their ancestor.

The great actors of the day performed in the Park Theater. I also vividly remember the Bowery Theater, as well as in subsequent years Burton's Theater in Chambers Street and the Astor Place Theater. When William C. Macready, the great English actor, was performing in the latter in 1849 a riot occurred caused by the jealousy existing between him and his American rival, Edwin Forrest. Forrest had not been well received in England owing, as he believed, to the unfriendly influence of Macready. While the latter was considered by many the better actor, Forrest was exceptionally popular with a certain class of people in New York whose sympathies were easily enlisted and whose passions were readily aroused. During the evening referred to, while Macready was acting in the role of Macbeth, a determined mob attacked the theater, and the riot was not quelled until after a bitter struggle, in which the police and the military were engaged, and during which twenty-one were killed and thirty-three wounded.

In consequence of this unfortunate rivalry and its bloody results, Forrest became morbid, and his domestic infelicities that followed served to still further embitter his life. In 1850 his wife instituted proceedings for divorce in the Superior Court of the City of New York, and the trial was protracted for two years. She was represented by the eminent jurist, Charles O'Conor, while Forrest employed "Prince" John Van Buren, son of the ex-President. The legal struggle was one of the most celebrated in the annals of the New York bar. There was abundant evidence of moral delinquency on the part of both parties to the suit, but the verdict was in favor of Mrs. Forrest. She was the daughter of John Sinclair, formerly a drummer in the English army and subsequently a professional singer. James Gordon Bennett said of her in the Herald that "being born and schooled in turmoil and dissipation and reared in constant excitement she could not live without it."

I have heard it said that one day John Van Buren was asked by a disgruntled friend at the close of a hotly contested suit whether there was any case so vile or disreputable that he would refuse to act as counsel for the accused. The quick response was: "I must first know the circumstances of the case; but what have you been doing?" Dr. Valentine Mott, who for many years was a resident of Paris, gave a fancy-dress ball in New York in honor of the Prince de Joinville, son of Louis Philippe. At this entertainment John Van Buren appeared in the usual evening dress with a red sash tied around his waist. Much to the amusement of the guests whom he met, his salutation was: "Would you know me?" It will be remembered that he was familiarly called "Prince John," owing to the fact that he had once danced with Queen Victoria prior to her ascension to the throne. One day Van Buren met on the street James T. Brady, a lawyer of equal ability and wit, who had recently returned from a visit to England. In a most patronizing manner he inquired whether he had seen the Queen. "Certainly," said Mr. Brady, "and under these circumstances. I was walking along the street when by chance the Queen's carriage overtook me, and the moment Her Majesty's eye lighted upon me she exclaimed: 'Hello, Jim Brady, when did you hear from John Van Buren?'" I recall another amusing anecdote about John Van Buren during my school days. Mustaches were at that time worn chiefly by the sporting element. Mr. Van Buren, who was very attentive to Catharine Theodora Duer, a daughter of President William Alexander Duer of Columbia College, and who, by the way, never married, adopted this style of facial adornment, but the young woman objecting to it he cut it off and sent it to her in a letter. Prince John Van Buren's daughter, Miss Anna Vander Poel Van Buren, many years thereafter, married Edward Alexander Duer, a nephew of this Catharine Theodora Duer.

It was my very great pleasure to know Fanny Kemble and her father, Charles Kemble. She was, indeed, the queen of tragedy, and delighted the histrionic world of New York by her remarkable rendering of the plays of Shakespeare. In later years when I heard her give Shakespearian readings, I regarded the occasion as an epoch in my life. In this connection I venture to express my surprise that the classical English quotations so pleasing to the ear in former days are now so seldom heard. It seems unfortunate that the epigrammatic sentences, for example, of grand old Dr. Samuel Johnson have become almost obsolete. In former years Byron appealed to the sentiment, while the more ambitious quoted Greek maxims. The sayings of the old authors were recalled, mingled with the current topics of the day. It would seem, however, that the present generation is decidedly more interested in quotations from the stock exchange. Edmund Burke said that "the age of chivalry is gone, that of sophists, economists, and calculators has succeeded."

Upon her return to England Fanny Kemble published her journal kept while in the United States, which was by no means pleasing in every respect to her American readers. It is said that in one of her literary effusions she dwelt upon a custom, which she claimed was prevalent in America, of parents naming their children after classical heroes, and gave as an example a child in New York who bore the name of Alfonzo Alonzo Agamemnon Dionysius Bogardus. The sister of this youth, she stated, was named Clementina Seraphina Imogen. I think this statement must have been evolved from her own brain, as it would be difficult to conceive of parents who would consent to make their children notorious in such a ridiculous manner. Fanny Kemble married Pierce Butler, a lawyer of ability and cousin of the U.S. Senator from South Carolina of the same name, and they were divorced in 1849, when the Hon. George M. Dallas was counsel for Fanny Kemble and Rufus Choate appeared for her husband.

Fanny Elssler, a queen of grace and beauty on the stage, delighted immense audiences at the Park Theater. She came to this country under the auspices of Chevalier Henry Wikoff, a roving but accomplished soldier of fortune, who pitched his camp in both continents. Upon her arrival in New York the "divine Fanny," as she was invariably called, was borne to her destination in a carriage from which the horses had been detached by her enthusiastic adorateurs, led by August Belmont. She was, indeed,

A being so fair that the same lips and eyes She bore on earth might serve in Paradise.

At this distant day it seems almost impossible to describe her. She seemed to float upon the stage sustained only by the surrounding atmosphere. In my opinion she has never had a rival, with the possible exception of Taglioni, the great Swedish danseuse. I saw Fanny Elssler dance the cracovienne and the cachucha, and it is a memory which will linger with me always. The music that accompanied these dances was generally selected from the popular airs of the day. Many dark stories were afloat concerning Fanny Elssler's private life, but to me it seems impossible to associate her angelic presence with anything but her wonderful art. She was never received socially in New York; indeed, the only person that I remember connected with the stage in my early days who had the social entree was Fanny Kemble.

We attended the Dutch Reformed Church in New York of which the Rev. Dr. Jacob Brodhead was for many years the pastor. My aunts, however, attended one of the three collegiate churches in the lower part of the city, and I sometimes accompanied them and, as there was a frequent interchange of pulpits, I became quite accustomed to hear all of the three clergymen. The Rev. Dr. John Knox, who endeared himself to his flock by his gentle and appealing ministrations; the Rev. Dr. Thomas De Witt, a profound theologian and courtly gentleman; and the Rev. Dr. William C. Brownlee, with his vigorous Scotch accent, preaching against what he invariably called "papery" (popery), and recalling, as he did, John Knox of old, that irritating thorn in the side of the unfortunate Mary Queen of Scots, made up this remarkable trio. During the latter part of his life Dr. Brownlee suffered from a stroke of paralysis which rendered him speechless, and his Catholic adversaries improved this opportunity to circulate the report that he had been visited by a judgment from Heaven.

There were many shining lights in the Episcopal Church at this time in New York. The Rev. Dr. William Berrian was the acceptable rector of St. John's, which was then as now a chapel of Trinity Parish. The Rev. Dr. Francis L. Hawks was the popular rector of St. Thomas's church, on the corner of Broadway and Houston Streets. He was a North Carolinian by birth, but is said to have been in part of Indian descent. I recall with pleasure his masterly rendition of the Episcopal service. During the Civil War he made it quite apparent to his parishioners that his sympathies were with the South, and as most of them did not share his views he moved to Baltimore, where a more congenial atmosphere surrounded him.

The Rev. Dr. Stephen H. Tyng, senior, was the rector of St. George's Episcopal church in the lower part of the city. He was a theologian of the Low-Church school and was greatly esteemed by all of his colleagues. His son, the Rev. Dr. Stephen H. Tyng, junior, was in full sympathy with the Low-Church views of his father, and will be recalled as an evangelical preacher of exceptional power and wide influence. In the summer of 1867 he preached, in defiance of the canons of the Episcopal Church, in St. James's Methodist church in New Brunswick, N.J., thus invading without authority the parishes of the Rev. Dr. Alfred Stubs and the Rev. Dr. Edward B. Boggs of that city. His trial was of sensational interest, and resulted, as will be remembered, in his conviction. The attitude of the Tyngs, father and son, was humorously described by Anthony Bleecker, a well-known wit of the day, in these verses:

Tyng, Junior.

I preach from barrels and from tubs, In spite of Boggs, in spite of Stubs; I'll preach from stumps, I'll preach from logs, In spite of Stubs, in spite of Boggs.

Tyng, Senior.

Do, Steve; and lay aside your gown, Your bands and surplice throw them down; A bob-tail coat of tweed or kersey Is good enough at least for Jersey.

Tyng, Junior.

What if the Bishops interfere, And I am made a culprit clear; Can't you a thunderbolt then forge, And hurl it in the new St. George?

Tyng, Senior.

Be sure I can and out of spite A wrathy sermon I'll indite; I'll score the court and every judge And call the whole proceedings fudge; And worse than that each reverent name I'll bellow through the trump of fame; With Bishop Potter I'll get even, And make you out the martyr Stephen.

The Rev. Dr. Orville Dewey, renowned for his intellectual attainments, preached in the Unitarian church in Mercer Street. In subsequent years his sermons were published and I understand are still read with much interest and pleasure. Archbishop John Hughes, whom I knew quite well, was the controlling power in the Roman Catholic Church. He possessed the affectionate regard of the whole community, and naturally commanded a wide influence. A Roman Catholic told me many years ago that, upon one of the visits of the Archbishop to St. Peter's church, he took the congregation to task for their exclusiveness, exclaiming: "You lock up your pews and exclude the marrow of the land."

I knew very well the Rev. Charles Constantine Pise, the first native-born Catholic to officiate in St. Joseph's church on Sixth Avenue. He was of Italian parentage and was remarkable for his great physical attractiveness. In addition to his fine appearance, he was exceedingly social in his tastes and was consequently a highly agreeable guest. He cultivated the muses to a modest degree, and I have several of his poetical effusions, one of which was addressed to me. In spite of the admiration he commanded from both men and women, irrespective of creed, life seemed to present to him but few allurements. Archbishop Hughes sent him to a small Long Island parish where, after laboring long and earnestly, he closed his earthly career. An anecdote is related of this pious man which I believe to be true. A young woman quite forgetful of the proprieties and conventionalties of life, but with decided matrimonial proclivities, made Father Pise an offer of her fortune, heart and hand. In a dignified manner he advised her to give her heart to God, her money to the poor, and her hand to the man who asked for it. Prior to his rectorship of St. Joseph's church in New York, Father Pise, who was an intimate friend of Henry Clay, served as Chaplain of the U.S. Senate during a portion of the 22d Congress. At the National Capital as well as in New York he was exceptionally popular, making many converts, especially among young women, and preaching to congregations in churches so densely crowded that it was difficult to obtain even standing room.

I cannot pass the Roman Catholic clergy without some reference to the Rev. Felix Varela, a priest of Spanish descent and, it is said, of noble birth, who was sent from Cuba to Spain as one of the deputies to the Cortes from his native island. His church was St. Peter's in Barclay Street. It would be difficult for any words to do justice to his life of self-abnegation or to his adherence to the precepts of his Divine Master. It is with pleasure, therefore, that I relate the following story, for the truth of which I can vouch. A policeman found a handsome pair of silver candlesticks in the custody of a poor unfortunate man, and as they bore upon them a distinctive coat of arms he arrested him. On his way to prison the suspected criminal begged to see Father Varela for a moment, and as his residence was en route to the station house the officer granted his request. This good priest informed the policeman with much reluctance that the candlesticks had formerly belonged to him, and that he had given them to his prisoner to buy bread for his family. My father was so deeply in sympathy with the life and character of this priest that, although of a different faith, he seldom heard his name mentioned without an expression of admiration for his life and character.

There was a French Protestant church in Franklin Street ministered to by the Rev. Dr. Antoine Verren, whose wife was a daughter of Thomas Hammersley. I also remember very well a Presbyterian church on Laight Street, opposite St. John's Park, the rector of which was the Rev. Dr. Samuel H. Cox, an uncle of the late Bishop Arthur Cleveland Cox of the Episcopal Church. Dr. Cox was a prominent abolitionist, and when we were living on Hubert Street, just around the corner, this church was stoned by a mob because the rector had expressed his anti-slavery views too freely.

The mode of conducting funerals in former days in New York differed very materially from the customs now in vogue. While the coffins of the well-to-do were made entirely of mahogany and without handles, I have always understood that persons of the Hebrew faith buried their dead in pine coffins, as they believed this wood to be more durable. Pall-bearers wore white linen scarfs three yards long with a rosette of the same material fastened on one shoulder, which, together with a pair of black gloves, was always presented by the family. It was originally the intention that the linen scarf should be used after the funeral for making a shirt. Funerals from churches were not as customary as at the present time. If the body was to be interred within the city limits every one attending the services, including the family, walked to the cemetery. It was unusual for a woman to be seen at a funeral.

But the whole social tone of New York society was more de rigueur than now. Sometimes, for example, persons living under a cloud of insufficient magnitude to place them behind prison bars, feeling their disgrace, took flight for Texas. Instead of placing the conventional P.P.C. on their cards the letters G.T.T. were used, meaning that the self-expatriated ne'er-do-well had "gone to Texas." I have always understood that in Great Britain the transgressor sought the Continent, where he was often enabled to pass into oblivion. In this manner both countries were relieved of patriots who "left their country for their country's good." As an example, I remember hearing in my early life of an Englishman named de Roos, who had the unfortunate habit of arranging cards to suit his own fancy. When his confreres finally caught him in the act he left hurriedly for the Continent.

In 1842 the U.S. sloop of war Somers arrived in New York, and the country was startled by the accounts of what has since been known as the "Somers Mutiny." The Captain of the ship was Commander Alexander Slidell Mackenzie, whose original surname was Slidell. He was a brother of the Hon. John Slidell, at one time U.S. Senator from Louisiana, who, during the Civil War, while on his passage to England on the Trent as a representative of the Southern Confederacy in England, was captured by Captain Charles Wilkes of the U.S. Navy. The result of the alleged mutiny was the execution, by hanging at the yard arm, of Philip Spencer, a son of the celebrated New York lawyer, John C. Spencer, President Tyler's Secretary of War, and of two sailors, Samuel Cromwell and Elisha Small. It was charged that they had conspired to capture the ship and set adrift or murder her officers. Being far from any home port, and uncertain of the extent to which the spirit of disaffection had permeated the crew, Mackenzie consulted the officers of his ship as to the proper course for him to pursue. In accordance with their advice, and after only a preliminary examination of witnesses and no formal trial with testimony for the defense, they were, as just stated, summarily executed.

I speak from the point of view of the legal element of New York, as my father's associates were nearly all professional men. The world was aghast upon receiving the news that three men had been hurled into eternity without judge or jury. Spencer was a lad of less than nineteen and a midshipman. Although Captain Mackenzie's action was sustained by the court of inquiry, which was convened in his case, as well as by the esprit de corps of the Navy, public feeling ran so high that a court martial was ordered. His trial of two months' duration took place at the Brooklyn Navy Yard, and resulted in a verdict of "not proven." The judge-advocate of the court was Mr. William H. Norris of Baltimore, and Mackenzie was defended by Mr. George Griffith and Mr. John Duer, the latter of whom was the distinguished New York jurist and the uncle of Captain Mackenzie's wife. At the request of the Hon. John C. Spencer, Benjamin F. Butler and Charles O'Conor, leaders of the New York bar, formally applied for permission to ask questions approved by the court and to offer testimony, but the request was refused—"so that," as Thomas H. Benton expressed it, "at the long post mortem trial which was given to the boy after his death, the father was not allowed to ask one question in favor of his son." After a lapse of sixty-nine years, judging from Mackenzie's report to the Navy Department, it almost seems as if he possessed a touch of mediaeval superstition. He speaks of Spencer giving money and tobacco to the crew, of his being extremely intimate with them, that he had a strange flashing of the eye, and finally that he was in the habit of amusing the sailors by making music with his jaws. Mackenzie in his official report stated that this lad "had the faculty of throwing his jaw out of joint and by contact of the bones playing with accuracy and elegance a variety of airs." James Fenimore Cooper stated it as his opinion, "that such was the obliquity of intellect shown by Mackenzie in the whole affair, that no analysis of his motives can be made on any consistent principle of human action;" and the distinguished statesman, Thomas H. Benton, whose critical and lengthy review of the whole case would seem to carry conviction to unprejudiced minds, declared that the three men "died innocent, as history will tell and show."

The proceedings of the Mackenzie trial were eagerly read by an interested public. As I remember the testimony given regarding Spencer's last moments upon earth, Mackenzie announced to the youthful culprit that he had but ten minutes to live. He fell at once upon his knees and exclaimed that he was not fit to die, and the Captain replied that he was aware of the fact, but could not help it. It is recorded that he read his Bible and Prayer-Book, and that the Captain referred him to the "penitent thief;" but when he pleaded that his fate would kill his mother and injure his father, Mackenzie made the inconsiderate reply that the best and only service he could render his father was to die.

I recall a conversation bearing upon the Somers tragedy which I overheard between my father and his early friend, Thomas Morris, when their indignation was boundless. The latter's son, Lieutenant Charles W. Morris, U.S.N., had made several cruises with the alleged mutineer Cromwell. Meeting Mackenzie he stated this fact, saying at the same time that he found him a well-disposed and capable seaman. Mackenzie quickly responded that "he had a bad eye," and then Lieutenant Morris recalled that the unfortunate man had a cast in one eye.